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"Bring out yer dead!"
Here's one.
FALCAO: I'm not dead.
"What?"
Nothing.
FALCAO: I'm not dead.
"...he says he's not dead."
Yes he is.
FALCAO: I'm not.
"He isn't..."
Well, he will be soon.
FALCAO: I'm getting better.
No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment.
"Well, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations."
FALCAO: I don't want to go on the cart.
Oh, don't be such a baby.
"I can't take him."
FALCAO: I feel fine.
"I'm fine [...] increasingly, I'm feeling better... Last weekend I could play 90 minutes and that's important."
-Falcao; source: AS via Google Translate
Oh, do me a favor.
"I can't."
Well, can you hang around for a couple of minutes? He won't be long.
"I promised I'd be over to the rest of the Chelsea squad. They've lost many today."
"The collective performance has not been as expected, but we have the ability and hierarchy to reverse the situation."
-Falcao; source: AS via Google Translate
You're not fooling anyone, you know. A vote of confidence is usually just a kiss of death.
FALCAO: I feel happy. I feel happy.
[Granovskaia & Emenalo glance up and down the office furtively, then quickly toss the buy-option provision into the paper shredder.]
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